"I like the idea of that," she agreed.
He kissed her again, soft and sweet and full of promise. When they separated, she was crying—not from pain, but from relief.
"I love you, too. I love your strength and your stubbornness and the way you fight for the people you care about. I love that you're brave enough to do this job, and I love that you're brave enough to let me in."
"Even if I'm terrible at it?"
"Especially then."
They held each other carefully, mindful of her injuries but desperate for connection. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the hospital room in shades of gold and orange. It had been one hell of a day—violence, betrayal, loss, and pain.
But it had also been the day Lark Strattan finally stopped running.
And that made everything else worth it.
17
MOOSE'S FARM, VIRGINIA
FOUR WEEKS LATER
The sound of chickens clucking and the distant laughter of his teammates drifted through the evening air as Kawan settled onto the porch swing beside Lark. The wedding had been perfect—small, intimate, just the team and their families gathered in Moose's backyard under a canopy of string lights and Virginia stars.
Moose had looked happier than Kawan had ever seen him, standing at the makeshift altar in his dress blues while Shay walked down the aisle between the chicken coops. Even the chickens had behaved themselves, though Cluck Norris had made a break for the cake table during the vows.
"That was nice," Lark said, leaning into his shoulder. The bruises on her face had faded, and the swelling around her eye had gone. She looked more like herself again, though something was different. Ligter, maybe. Like a weight she'd been carrying for years had finally been set down.
"Moose cried," Kawan observed. "Actually cried. I got it on video."
"Shay cried too. And Thor. And Danni." Lark smiled. "Hell, even Sloan teared up when Cassandra threw flower petals at his head instead of on the ground."
They sat holding hands, fitting together like old puzzle pieces, watching as the team cleaned up the remnants of the reception. Thor chased his daughter around the yard as she giggled and tried to catch fireflies. Jupiter and Specs sat at one of the tables, heads bent close together over something on her tablet—probably work, but the way Jupiter kept touching her hand suggested it wasn't entirely professional.
“What do you think is really going on with them?” Lark asked, following his gaze. “When I ask Specs, she says they’re just friends. But I’m not buying it.”
“Something’s brewing, but Jupiter keeps telling me to mind my own damn business.” Kawan took her hand, threading their fingers together. “Whatever it is, they’re good for each other.”
"I think so too." She squeezed his hand. "She deserves someone who sees how amazing she is."
"So do you."
Lark turned to look at him, that small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I found someone who does."
The words still hit him like a punch to the chest. Four weeks of hearing her say she loved him, and it still felt like a miracle every time.
"Lark," he said, his voice suddenly more serious.
"Yeah?"
He cleared his throat, surprised by how nervous he felt. This was Lark—the woman who'd faced down enemy fire without blinking, who'd walked into certain death to protect her team. But asking her this question felt scarier than any mission he'd ever been on.
"Would you ever want to do that?" he asked, nodding toward where Moose and Shay had just finished their first official dance as man and wife.
"What, get married?" she said it as if she were testing the words, seeing how they felt in her mouth. "Maybe. I don't know. Are you asking?"
His heart hammered against his ribs. "Maybe. Are you interested?"
She was quiet for so long he thought he'd miscalculated, pushed too hard, too fast. Then she tilted her head, studying him with those sharp eyes.
